Drabbles by Silvestria
by Silvestria
Summary: Drabbles I have on the Downton Abbey Forums and elsewhere. Different character and pairing focuses, upstairs and downstairs from Edith/Patrick to Gwen via old Mr. Molesley and Kemal Pamuk. NEW! Two Mary/Charles and one Mary/Richard drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: These were originally posted on the Downton Abbey Forums (see link on my profile), but I thought it would be nice to collect them together and share them here! I like some of these more than others, but they were great for getting me out of my writing comfort zone and writing about other characters. Hope you enjoy them, whether for a first or second time._

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><p>1. MaryMatthew, Italy

2. Gwen, typewriter

3. Kemal Pamuk, an English hunt

4. Edith/Patrick, secrets

5. Crawley family, Greek gods/esses [the Olympians]

6. Molesley, O'Brien, "You need better friends"

7. Old Mr. Molesley, herb garden

8. Mary, pregnancy, Pamuk

9. William and Carson, learning the trade

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><p><em>MaryMatthew, Italy_

When Mary used to think about Italy she thought about literature and the romance of the past. She thought about Ovid, who wrote the wonderful _Metamorphoses_, tales of heroism and love and transformation. She thought about George Eliot, who sent two characters to Italy for whom the experience changed their lives: Deronda who left not knowing his parents or his race and returned with a family, and Dorothea who left a bride and returned in love with her husband's cousin.

Now she realises that romance does not just happen to other people. She turns away from the window and the view of Florence and smiles at the man behind her.

Now when she thinks about Italy she thinks about her husband.

* * *

><p><em>Gwen, typewriter<em>

When Gwen first got her typewriter, she did not think anything could be so beautiful or perfect. The keys shone, the ribbon fitted perfectly, and the sound of the keys clicking together as she typed filled her with feelings of awe, hope and pride. Sometimes in the servants' hall they played a game, saying what one possession they would rescue in the case of a fire. Gwen always said something silly, but privately she thought of the box hidden in her room

When her secret came out, the typewriter lost some of its power. She still loved it but she had new hopes and dreams now, bigger ones. Lady Sybil thought they could become reality. Maybe they could.

After this the typewriter ceased to be magic. It was a means to an end.

* * *

><p><em>Kemal Pamuk, an English hunt<em>

How strange the English fascination with blood sports when they are so sophisticated a country in other respects!

Kemal Pamuk wondered at this inconsistency and longed to experience it himself. He could understand the thrill of the chase easily enough, the complex relationship of pursuer and pursued, and the excitement of being in at the kill.

The pounding, the rush, the anticipation. Then, when the creature is finally caught and subdued, the heart-stopping moment of truth. The first gush of fresh blood as the beast sinks in. A moment later and the victim lies, quivering and limp, and the hunter finishes it off with a sharp, sharp stab. Then - a little death for both, perhaps.

The moment has come. Blood pounding in his veins, his eagerness rising, he pauses - just a second. Then, with a smile, he silently opens Lady Mary's door.

* * *

><p><em>EdithPatrick, secrets_

It did not matter how hard she practised, Edith could not master the waltz. She knew perfectly well that it was simple, that her feet moved one after the other but somehow the feet themselves did not understand this and she was constantly getting muddled.

They were to depart for London in only a week with her presentation coming not long afterwards and after the presentation - her ball. Edith blinked back tears as she danced up and down the gallery hour after hour her arms open for a non-existent partner. What was the point of being a debutante if one could not dance?

Suddenly, her arms were no longer empty and she felt herself staring open-mouthed into the warm brown eyes of Cousin Patrick. His right hand lay flat and firm on her back and he grabbed her hand in his left. He pulled her round the room and somehow with him pushing her in the right directions, she found that she was dancing.

After they had gone all the way up the gallery and back down again, he slowed them to a stop and let go of her hands. She found that she felt dizzy from more than the spinning. She stared up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He smiled gently back.

Then a horrible thought occurred to her.

"You'll tell Mary you found me here."

He smiled again. "No, I won't."

Edith was lost.

* * *

><p><em>Crawley family, Greek godsesses [the Olympians] _

When Lady Rosamund decided that her 1914 themed party should be "The Olympians" everyone got excited. Cora went as Juno of course, nobody doubted that, but there were raised eyebrows when Robert refused the mantle of Jupiter and instead donned a discreet pair of winged shoes and a caduceus and came as the messenger god.

Mary dithered between Minerva and Venus, wondering which would appeal more to Matthew, but she took too long over her choice. Edith, in a rare display of public initiative, snatched Venus, and Sybil lay claim to Minerva. Mary was forced to go as Diana, virgin goddess of the hunt, and hope that nobody came as Acteon.

Matthew turned up late with a fake sword and a very fake pair of wings on his sandals, looked slyly at Mary and hoped nobody minded that he had come as a demi-god.

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><p><em>Molesley, O'Brien, "You need better friends" <em>

O'Brien did not like Molesley especially, though she really had nothing in particular against him. She disliked Bates more, however. So it was that one day when she heard Molesley praising Bates' generosity, circumspection and saying how he was a very fine chap all in all, she snorted. "What's 'e ever done for you then?"

Molesley looked surprised at her even talking to him. "He warned me off Anna. Apparently someone else is interested. I'm grateful for that - I could have really liked her."

Could a man get any stupider? "Use yer eyes. The only person interested in 'er is Bates 'imself, and if you knew what I knew about 'im you wouldn't think he was such a bleedin' saint. You ask Vera – she'd tell you a thing or two if you wanted to listen."

Vera had little to recommend her on the surface. Molesley looked at O'Brien coldly. "Bates is a good chap for all that. You need better friends."

She shrugged. "Could say the same about you."

* * *

><p><em>Old Mr. Molesley, herb garden<em>

Mr. Moseley's beautiful garden meant to different things to different people from Downton as they walked past it.

To the proud, its success was a challenge to be beaten, every tall shoot or blossoming flower a sign of superiority needing to be crushed.

To the clever ones (the kind who knew their Voltaire), it was a symbol of life - of the hard work needed to achieve and the rewards which might come from acceptance of one's lot. The growth and the journey from seed to adult plant was what was most important, no matter how imperfect the result.

To the romantics, the flowers had meaning - lilacs for first love, lilies for purity, and all kinds of roses for all kinds of new feelings.

Old Mr. Molesley loved his plants and was very proud of everything he had achieved. But sometimes a garden was just a garden.

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><p><em>Mary, pregnancy, Pamuk<em>

"Wait a moment."

Mary turned reluctantly back to her mother. She could not imagine she would like anything she would say and she desperately needed to return to her own room and cry some more. "What else?"

The countess had kept it very cool all through this most awkward of interviews. Only now did she display more concern. "Mary... there's one other thing. We must make certain that there has been no more lasting effect for you from this unfortunate encounter."

It took her a moment to understand and then she blanched and trembled. She had not once thought of it. "He said- he said I would be a virgin for my-"

She trailed off at her mother's exasperated expression, feeling tears prick once again. "He lied?" she whispered.

Cora sighed. "We can't be sure."

Mary sat back down on the bed, even more horrifying thoughts pouring over her. Ruin ruin ruin. The words repeated themselves over and over again in her mind. "How will I know?"

Her mother told her quite simply. Mary had had no idea.

A week later, she had never been so glad to be indisposed.

* * *

><p><em>William and Carson, learning the trade<em>

William stopped playing abruptly as he became aware of a presence behind him. He turned and saw Mr. Carson watching him with an expression that was not quite disapproval.

"Sorry!" he cried quickly. "I should be-"

Carson waved it away. "No, no, it's your evening off. Don't let me stop you."

"No, sir!"

But William could not quite continue to play, not with the butler still watching him. He turned back again and continued with a mixture of deference and curiosity, "I suppose - I suppose it must bring back memories!"

After all, it was not like they hadn't all wondered!

Carson was silent for just long enough for William to open his mouth to apologise again for having gone too far, when he said, "I suppose it does, some memories."

This was further than anyone else had got with him. William wondered what Daisy would say if he was able to tell her the secret of Carson's past life, discovered all by himself! He turned more fully towards him on the piano stool.

"Did you ever play, sir?"

"Oh, no. I never played."

Now William could identify the expression on his face. It was wistfulness and it made him burst out, "I could teach you, if you liked!"

Then the other recollected himself and coughed sharply. "No, William, I do not think that would be suitable!"

William looked down. "No, Mr. Carson. Of course not."

He watched the butler leave, saying something proudly about needing to see Mrs. Hughes, and then he shrugged, returning to his playing with a more confident air. It was a nice feeling, knowing more than Mr. Carson.


	2. Chapter 2

_I was challenged on tumblr to write "a silly conversation on THAT bench." So this is for _**thatramblingmind**. :)

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><p>"Darling… you do know it's been raining?"<p>

Mary opened her eyes, startled, and blinked in the weak sunshine. "Yes," she murmured, "but not for a very long time!"

Her husband's eyes flickered down to the bench and back up. "Not quite long enough." He did not really want to sit down next to her.

A heavy drop of water from the tree above landed with a resounding plop on Mary's hat. She did not move but smiled beautifically. In fact, she was really extremely comfortable and lethargic and so what if it had been raining?

"You'll catch cold sitting on a damp bench," Matthew persisted.

"Then perhaps I shouldn't sit on it," she responded with implacable complacency.

"Perhaps you shouldn't." He glared at her.

For a moment or two they simply stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Then Mary tilted her head to one side. "You could always compromise."

They had been talking about compromises a lot recently. Matthew thought his wife still had quite a way to go in understanding the concept.

"Could _we_? How?"

"You could sit on the bench."

"How is that a compromise, darling?"

"I could sit on you. I have to sit somewhere, you know; I'm dreadfully tired after walking here." She gave a little elegant yawn to prove her point.

Matthew's eyes flickered down again. "I'm not sure that's a particularly good idea at the moment."

"I'm getting very cold!" She snapped and gave him a very hard look indeed.

He sat down gingerly on the bench, feeling the dampness creep immediately into his trousers. With a little more effort, he then pulled his wife onto his knees and managed to wrap his arms all the way around her.

"Better?" he asked, kissing her neck.

"Much," she replied smugly. "You?"

He suppressed a sigh. "I can't feel my legs."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Two Mary/Blake and one Mary/Richard drabbles originally on tumblr._

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><p><strong>Mother Nature (MaryBlake)**

He found the baby first. George was came crawling out of the undergrowth bringing a trail of dry leaves in his wake. Mr. Blake, who had been minding his own business and avoiding Mary and her admirers by walking out after dinner, instantly changed his mind as his face broke into a smile. He crouched down to be more at the boy's level.

"You look lost, little fellow," he said with a grin.

George pushed himself up into a sitting position and threw leaves in his face.

Charles spat, rolled his eyes, and stood up again.

He craned his neck through the undergrowth and then shouted, "Mary!"

After all the baby had hardly crawled all the way from the nursery.

"Mary, I have something of yours!"

Predictably, he heard her crunch through the leaves, left over from last autumn and not yet broken down in this sheltered spot, and appear before him, moving a branch away from her face. His heart leapt treacherously. This was _exactly _why he had been standing alone in a field listening to the sounds of the country and she had been inside flirting with Gillingham and Evelyn.

Her breath caught for a second as their eyes met before her eyes dropped to her son. "Oh, George!"

She shot Charles a quizzical glance before bending down and scooping her son up in her arms.

"Thank you. I didn't expect him to move so fast!" she explained with a mixture of gratitude and ruefulness.

It was so obvious that she had probably never taken the baby out on her own before that he had to conceal a laugh. "He takes after you, you know."

She shifted his balance on her hip and pulled some leaves out his tight grip. "How so?"

Charles grinned broadly at both of them. "Excellent aim."

* * *

><p><strong>Questioning (MaryBlake)**

"Enough?"

He peered over her shoulder. "Mmmhhhm."

"More then?" There was a touch of impatience in her tone.

He laughed. "Can you ever have too much butter?"

"I really wouldn't know," she bit back, but she cut off another knob and added it to the frying pan all the same.

"Mrs. Patmore will be very angry with us," she observed over her shoulder a moment later as she tilted the pan to get the butter to cover the whole surface.

"Won't she be more annoyed at the loss of the bacon than of the butter?" he pointed out, returning to her side with a piece of bacon held up in each hand.

He looked ridiculous and her expression creased into brightness. Then the frying fat spat up and she flinched as a spark landed on the back of her hand.

"Ready?" he asked as she sucked the burn.

At her nod, he nudged her away from the stove. "Stand back!"

Eyebrows rising, she was forced to take a step to the side. "Or…?"

"Beware of sparks!" he grinned at her, the bacon dangling from his finger tips.

She lowered her hand from her mouth, the sting having receded. "Do you think I'm afraid of sparks?"

His eyes darted across her face, suddenly seeming unsure. Her gaze dropped from his and for a moment it felt as if the kitchen itself was holding its breath. Then his lips twitched up and he dropped the bacon into the frying pan causing the butter to hiss and spit and the edges of the bacon to curl pink as they caught the heat.

"Too late!" he murmured, eyeing her sideways.

He needn't have worried, for she only moved back to her original position and stretched her hand out to take charge of the frying pan.

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><p><strong>Seeking Solace (RichardMary)**

They left the graveyard together. Mary wanted to look back, wanted to so desperately that she felt her heart might break a second time if she did not. Richard's hand was steady on her arm, however, and the strange mixture of fear and strength that he inspired in her, kept her looking forwards.

They had walked nearly all the way down the village street in silence before he spoke.

"I heard what he said to you."

Mary raised her eyes bleakly to his face. "Which part?"

"Trying to place Lavinia's death at your door." His eyes were sharp and angry on hers. "He had no right to speak to you like that."

"He's grieving," murmured Mary with tired defensiveness and turned away.

"That's no excuse."

Mary stopped walking and faced him. "I'd like to be quiet, Richard."

His eyes raked over her face and finally he nodded. In silence, he offered her his arm for the second time and for the second time she took it. For the rest of the walk to Downton, he held his peace.


End file.
